


through deceit we fall

by vaultboii



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bad Matchmaking, Flirting, Flirting on Battlefield, Holy Shit it's more megops, M/M, Matchmaking, Sexual Tension, Slow Romance, Starscream being Starscream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 18:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12041769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: whereas megatron and optimus really need to stop flirting during battle, and that maybe ratchet shouldn't have listened to starscream's new diabolical scheme.also, someone please help soundwave.





	through deceit we fall

**Author's Note:**

> includes a lot of characters from many different parts of the transformers universe. based off the "five times this" meme

 

**FIVE TIMES THE LEADERS FLIRTED ON THE BATTLEFIELD, AND HOW THEIR SUBORDINATES GOT TIRED OF IT.**

* * *

The fight was going absolutely nowhere.

Evenly matched the two leaders had been at it for a while. Okay, _while_ was an understatement; more like _hours_. The subordinates to the leaders had crashed to a ceasefire thirty minutes ago, respectfully watching the brawl with loud cheering for bloodshed by the Decepticon behalf, and enthusiastic encouragement for the Prime on the Autobots end. Both factions were snarling overly confident insults at the other, the occasional stray blaster fire shot over the others’ heads. Neither faction was too concerned on their leader’s health at all; the only one who showed remotely any interest in such health was Ratchet, and he was busy patching up poor Ironhide who had been ambushed only an hour earlier.

The leaders themselves were exhausting themselves. Prime, having drawn much power to continue fighting under the stress of combat, was starting to lose his graceful edge to Megatron’s heavy combat; however, the other leader wasn’t any different, and blows that usually crippled mechs upon impact fell to light dents and weary swings. With exhaustion came the usual boasting to cover weakness from Megatron, and Prime’s pedesteps fell back and back to defensive. Soon it would be over, they both knew, and they’d both retreat back to their bases and lick their wounds, and then be back for another round another week.

No. Today was different. One of them had to fall, both told themselves without conviction. Today. Not tomorrow.

Too bad they never actually listened to themselves.

“You’re fighting better today, Prime,” taunted Megatron, to the rhythm of their blades crashing together. Prime huffed, but said nothing; in fact, he quite disagreed with the warlord but took it upon himself not to enrage the tyrant further. “This has been the longest you’ve lasted against me.”

“Surrender, Megatron. No more nonsense like this battle should be fought.” Optimus tried, but only received a nice tap on the helm in return. The move could have hurt if the said mech who had swung it hadn’t been wheezing like a damn fool, and his vents weren’t flaring in overexertion.

“Quite opposite, Prime. You should be surrendering.” Megatron heaved loud ventilations.  He was quite tired, but no Decepticon would admit that in person. The Morning-star fell to the ground beside him. “I’m barely getting started.”

The absolute bullshit wretched a weak laugh out of him, and Optimus found himself choking on chuckles to the startled look of Megatron’s optics. Laughter threatened to trickle out of his vocalizer and he bit the side of his glossa just to keep it in. Just getting started. Oh, that was a good one.

That didn’t stop Megatron from hearing it, though. “I am!” The Warlord sounded as if he was throwing a tantrum. “Is that hardly believable?”

“I refuse to answer that.” He snorted, and then shook his head as Megatron’s weak punch sent him spinning to the side. “You must have impressive stamina then.”

“It helps when you have someone attractive to compete with,” Megatron huffed out, and they both fell silent right away.

Mutual agreement on the retreat happened without word. Blaster fire was automatically shot at each other, and the other side. Prime stepped back up the slope firing his gun tiredly, and Megatron staggered to his faction, punched Starscream once in the face, and they flew away back to whatever base they were in now.

As soon as he reached base, Megatron cursed to himself, and blamed the fatigue on his slip of tongue. Annoying, he meant to say. Annoying.

Prime was left with a serious processor ache trying to comprehend the words, and wondering if he imagined them in the middle of his battle-haze.

Yeah. Definitely.

 

The second time it happened it was during a small conflict over the smallest of human resources and Optimus wasn’t sure why it came out of his mouthplate. They were just sparing; hand to hand combat, seemingly ignored by their fellow companions in the heat of battle, and it spilled out of his lips quicker than Energon from a reserve. He supposed it had to do with the technique Megatron was trying today; as much as it was irritating, it was very impressible and something he hadn’t prepared for defense against. It was not because his mind had been clouded by the thought of Megatron’s earlier words, and neither because he was a stuttering mess. An accident, he told himself. Just an accident.

“Showing off and impressing, all in one,” he had heard himself drawl, and Megatron froze.

A part of him melted away in embarrassment. Half the Autobots and half the Decepticons were staring at him, optics suddenly very alert towards Megatron and his reaction. The Morningstar lay forgotten in the awkward tension that had suddenly filled the room, and he felt like retreating right then and there, human establishment be damned. He was not dealing with whatever in Primus’ name had decided to emerge from his vocalizer, neither the consequences that came with it. But, surprisingly, his pedes stayed glued to the floor, as if waiting for the tyrant’s response.

The Warlord opened his mouthplates to retort and then Starscream was there, a poorly aimed laser streaming towards the Warlord’s back. It hit the mech like a bolt of lightning, and said Decepticon leader went flying, and he took that opportunity to yell, “Autobots, retreat!”

“What in Primus’ fraggin’ name was that?” Ratchet yelled at him through the comms as they beat it from the forsaken human energy factory, voice outraged in every way possible.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything for a long, long time.       

 

Megatron went back to his base and threw Starscream across the floor once for trying to kill him again. Then he sat down, trying to place the words under a plausible reason for him to impulsively blurt that out. He thought, and thought for a long time. Laserbeak made sure to keep him company.

He came to a brilliant conclusion.

_What the frag._

 

The third time it happened it was by Megatron again, and even the old miner couldn’t find an explanation for how the words kept coming and coming.

And how Prime responded.

“Well, isn’t someone in the ruthless mood today.” It started off pretty harmless enough, simple taunts to the beat of their weapons clashing. He had a sword today; he couldn’t quite recall where the scrap he had picked it up, but details were just details. Unfortunately for him, Prime had his axe, and as much as he was great at picking up new weapons quickly it took a lot out of him trying to keep up to the tempo of the Prime. Maybe that’s why his mouth decided to run itself, trying to buy him time to heave a spare breath and gather himself against the onslaught of the Prime. Most likely. “Could make another mech weak to see. Someone say like Ratchet.” Not so innocent anymore. Frag him sideways.

“Spare me your words, Megatron,” Optimus scoffed, but a flicker of uncertainty in those blue optics had his mouthplates still moving. He blamed it on that Engex he had two solar cycles ago. It had to be that Engex, and how strong it had been. “This battle is between us alone. Do not drag any of my fellow comrades into this.”

“You are always so literal, Prime. I’m not dragging anyone between us.” He was still talking. Why was he still talking. “I was talking about that expression of yours. So intense. It’s a perfect look for you.”

What the frag. What the frag. He willed himself to shut up.

Prime spoke. “Is that so?” Not even a falter in tone. Someone had been clearly thinking about this for a while. “Well, being around you does bring out my best.”

Holy frag.

His processor froze and panic shrieked in increasing decibels in his mind, but his mouthplates kept moving. He didn’t know how in the Pit he was still making decent sentences.

“Quite a compliment coming from a Prime.” He slammed the sword down, and Prime blocked it just in time to see the small smirk growing at the corner of his glossa.

“Reserved only for you.” There was an edge of a smile in the words. “See you around, Megatron.”

His processor only took a klik to process the sentence, but the kick that slammed into the side of his helm took less. Vision went blurry, and he dropped down in stunned shock. Prime was gone by then. Cheating little fragger. Cheating, dirty little fragger.

That was...interesting, he told himself when his vision stopped spinning. Unique. Never to be repeated again, however how intriguing it was.

His Decepticons said nothing when he came back to base covered in scratches, dents, and a helmache to match.

 

“They’re absolutely mad,” Ratchet snarled as they watched the fourth fight in a row that had horrifically started with Optimus pinning Megatron and how the Prime had scrambled off to the words of something the mech had whispered in his audial. “ _Abso-fraggin’-lutely_ mad. Prime falling for the Decepticon Warlord? Now, comeon, Cliffjumper; you can’t be serious.”

“Absolutely serious,” Cliffjumper insisted, perched on the rock peering down in the canyon. The little mech was ogling the two, servos over optics in intense peering. Blaster fire raced over his helm, but he didn’t falter or flinch from his squatting position. “Look at them. They’re pining, for Primus’ sake.”

“You’re right about that,” Skywarp crowded from behind them, and instantly blasters were aimed towards the teleporting fool.

“Woah, woah, woah, friendly!” Skywarp put his servos above his helm, smile growing a little wider and a heck lot more nervous. Another Decepticon popped up from behind the mech; Starscream, of all Seekers, and he held a bold grin too widely canine to be considered anywhere near the term _‘friendly’_. “Hold your fire! I want to propose a truce.”

“A truce.” Ratchet deadpanned, staring at the Seekers. “A truce.”                                   

“Well, yeah.” said Skywarp, stammering over his words. The Seeker took a moment to turn around to eye Megatron, and Starscream just huffed a vent at his irrational trust towards them. The mech was waving towards their two Leaders now, words stuttering over themselves to keep up to the pace of the mech’s mouth. And, Primus, the Seeker could rival Blurr. “I mean: look at them. I know Lord Megatron is the greatest and all, and _I’m sure you guys feel the same about Prime even though you’re wrong_ but! It’s getting too much, and Lord Megatron has been getting distracted more, and even Soundwave agrees that it’s getting a tad overwhelming, and –”

“What the imbecile is getting at is that we’re fraggin’ tired of watching Megatron stare at Optimus’ aft.” Starscream sneered, and Skywarp swatted his Trine mate with the most insulted of gasps. “Overwhelmingly exhausted.”

”They’re not –not like that!” If Ratchet’s voice was defensive before, now it was a reinforced fortress. “You’re completely reading this wrong: we don’t need no scrappin’ truce because Optimus and Megatron are like some newspark couple. There’s nothing. Nothing.” If he sounded like he was trying to convince himself, it wasn’t intentional. At all. “You’re absolutely glitched, Screamer, and I suggest you go get your processor examined thoroughly by Knockout!”

“Am I now?” Starscream drawled as another clang of a sword on axe flung through the canyon, followed by a bunch of words that faintly sounded like, ‘Beautiful form,’ or  something so highly _suggestive_ that made him want to rip his audials out and call out of this war. “Am I really that wrong?”

As if Primus just wanted Starscream to be right for once, Cliffjumper made a noise from the rock, and clapped his servos over his glossa. “Optimus just hit Megatron in the face, and Megatron smiled at that.” He announced, just to drive the urgency of their truce up a bit. “It’s getting... _heated_.”

“Primus frag it to the Pit, you’re right, fine!” He threw his hands up, and avoided the glare Ironhide tried to skewer him with. “This is ridiculous and I’m regretting this whole war, and all I want is a nice recharge, is that too much to ask?”

“Doc, calm down.” It was Bumblebee who buzzed up to him worriedly, setting a servo on his arm. “We’re all concerned by these events.”

“I suggest they just frag and get it over with.” Starscream snorted, and if the canyon wasn’t deadly silent (with the exception of the sparing mechs below them) before, now it was. The Seeker faced the disgusted/amused/outright shocked looks wearing a face of pride. “Throwing that out there.”

“Absolutely not.” His face must’ve been flamed for Starscream’s grin to be that wide. Then again, everyone was wearing a face of second-hand embarrassment, even Ironhide, who was known to make the most vulgar of jokes. “I – I can’t even think of them like that, by the Pits.”

“Well, you should bring it up with them.” Starscream suggested almost coyly. “Or how about this? We shout, in their general direction, to pierce each other or we’re calling the war off. Could work for Our Almighty Megatron.”

“Could also get you scrapped if he hears the slandering things you’re saying right now,” Skywarp warned his brother, face tainted Energon pink. He waved a servo in the general direction of Optimus and Megatron’s flirting. Flirting. He hated the organic term that sprang to his processor. Flirting. “Could also mean we all die by two of the mightiest forces in our factions.”

“Eh, well worth it.” Starscream shrugged. “Alright. What’s our plan?”

“Could always lock them together and hope for the best. That’s how it worked between Rewind and Chromedome when I got them together,” piped up Cliffjumper from the front, still steadily eyeing the two Leaders. “Oh. Megatron’s straddling Optimus. Oh, now they’re embarrassed. Oh, come on, it’s a fraggin’ war, you’re on opposing teams, just frag or kill each other, get on with it!” That was a whisper. “Think if I just shouted _‘FRAG’_ they’d get down and do it?”

“No.” Soundwave spoke up; everyone snapped around startled, even their companying Decepticons. “Soundwave: notes that Megatron and Optimus are getting tired. We should hurry this up.”

“Oh, perfect, you’re here. How about this,” and at the arrival of the Spy, Starscream strutted up and poked a servo onto the Decepticon’s chest, “You talk to him. He’ll kill me five seconds before I got the words out of my mouth, and Skywarp and Thundercracker here are too stupid to not mess it up.” Queue enraged protesting from the teleporting glitch of the Trines’ Seekers. “You do it. He trusts you most.”

“And if Soundwave doesn’t want to do it?” spoke up Thundercracker, who seemed relieved at being insulted. “Megatron goes off on one of his reclusive adventures?”

“Then frag.” Starscream summed that up quickly, and span on heel-thrusters to them. “Alright, now what about your end of the deal?”

“I’ll talk to Prime,” he said to everyone’s curious optics. “Reluctantly, at that.”

“Goodie! Everyone’s happy, and I don’t have to watch Megatron’s pining like an Academy newspark.” Starscream clapped mockingly. “Now we go back to killing each other.”

The warning shots that rang out between factions were almost comforting in the familiarity, and when the Seekers took off after the rest of the Decepticons it was a relief.

 

“Soundwave: inquiry.”

It had been only two solar cycles since the last time he and Prime had clashed, Megatron noted with a grit of his dentae, and already he was missing the stupid remarks they had made while clashing. It wasn’t that he craved the words said between them, absolutely not. He expected nothing when he went into that battle, and yet, still, a part of him had hoped that the words would come.

He wasn’t disappointed.

And they hadn’t stopped at the first sentences spoken between them; no, they kept going and going, even as his plating flared at what was being said and his vents ran heavy. And when Prime pinned him the words just fell from his mouth.

_‘Like to be on top, Prime?'_

Prime’s reaction (the mech practically threw himself off) had not been surprising, honestly. He would’ve done the same. It still stung a bit all the same.

 _‘Mmm, comfy,’_ was what Prime murmured when he had straddled him trying to keep him down, and he still remember that surge of want going through him and _frag it Soundwave was still standing there waiting for a response._

“Go ahead.” He said, and if his voice wavered a bit it wasn’t because his thoughts were still trained somewhere else. “What do you want to say?”

“Soundwave: worries he might overstep. Soundwave: apologizes for words in advance.” Soundwave spoke stiffly, and before he could ask precisely what he was apologizing for, the mech spoke quickly and briefly.

“Soundwave: is concerned with our Lord’s current state of interest with Autobot Leader Optimus Prime.”

“What.” His voice must’ve sounded a tad outraged, because Soundwave visibly flinched _(Soundwave, never-showing-emotion, Soundwave of all the mechs)_ but stayed standing tall beside him. “What?”

“Soundwave: highly insists on hearing why Lord Megatron has a new interest in Optimus Prime.” Soundwave vocalized, still looking away, and that’s when Megatron realized his third-in-command was blushing in second-hand embarrassment.

“...I have absolutely no idea what you’re going on about.” He lied, even as his vents pinged to turn on and that feeling of Prime posed over him came up again. “My interest in Prime is only to get rid of the Autobot Leader, and in so, the Autobots.”

Soundwave replied by playing an audio log of the more recent brawl, and if he was looking from an unknowing, blind Decepticons point-of-view, yeah, maybe it did sound like flirting. It wasn’t though. Was not flirting. Not in the slightest.

“Only interest?” Soundwave asked.

“An opponent must recognize his enemies’ skills, Soundwave.” He lied some more, even as the growl of _‘Been practicing that one for a while, Prime?’_ and the response, _‘Just for you’_ filled the space between them. He couldn’t see Soundwave’s optics, but from just looking at the mech’s stance he radiated disagreement with disappointment. If it had been Starscream standing there judging with those vexing optics, he would’ve been smashed flat to bits already by the Morning-Star. Instead, he found himself without wrath at the presence of Soundwave’s judgement, and he supposed it was because of the spy’s past reputation. “I merely was complimenting him on managing to thwart me so far. Few have been able to do it. That deserves some recognition from your Lord Megatron.”

“If Lord Megatron insists that’s why, that’s why.” Soundwave finally said, and looking at the mech he realized his most respected officer had placed his helm in his servos and was rubbing aggressively at the sides of his helm. “I will not question the will of our Great Lord.”

“...How much of that have you recorded?” He slowly asked.

“By Primus.” Soundwave said into his servos, and that’s when his vents caught.

 

Ratchet was not subtle in the least when it came to asking Optimus.

“You’re flirting with Megatron.” Ratchet accused as soon as he marched into the room, wrench in one servo and pointing with the other. He couldn’t say the doctor looked pissed, but it was getting pretty close. Bumblebee followed close, making calming gestures but being thoroughly ignored. “You’re fraggin’ flirting with Megatron.”

He couldn’t really hide his shock, or his apparent embarrassment, but he tried anyway.  “What are you talking about, old friend?” He asked the doctor, quietly and kindly, yet with a touch of firmness that just maybe the doctor would listen to and not go on raving about his new attraction to Megatron.

Ratchet went on raving about his new attraction to Megatron. “Oh, don’t you old friend me, Optimus you slaggin’ scrapheap.” The wrench barely was held in the doctor’s servos when Ratchet threw them in the air exasperated, and Bumblebee practically threw himself at the doctor to keep his old friend from beaning him over the helm accidentally with said wrench. “The compliments. The straddling! The flirting! What is this all about?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” He said slowly, with a touch of disbelief. The Matrix scoffed in his chest, and he could feel Primus rolling his optics all the way from in the Well of Allsparks. He mentally told Primus to kindly piss off. Please.

“No. You do understand. Blaster, over here now.” And now here came Blaster, with probably enough sufficient evidence to shoot him a grave and then some. The recordings played, and, yep that was them. Yep, that was them talking while fighting. Simply talking, and complimenting each other, like all bitter rivals do.

‘ _Like to be on top, Prime?’_ hissed the recording’s Megatron, and his vents might have finally caught that remaining bit of dust from the trip home, and turned on, coughing.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was trying to distract him?” He tried to say.

“No.” Ratchet sighed. “Prime, I’m not here about to whine about your berthmates, but Megatron? The Leader of the Decepticons? The one who’s trying to kill us all? Co-Destroyer of Cybertron?” The recordings continued on and on. Maybe it did sound like flirting. Or maybe he was being delusional, and the words were just typically what rivals yelled at each other amongst the exchange of blows. “What’s going on?”

“I...would rather not say.” He said, and turned, and that should’ve been the end of it.

Instead Ratchet marched up behind him, took his arm and yanked him back to face the fiery-lit optics of his doctor. “Optimus.” The demand was more of a plea when it reached his stunned audials. “Tell me. Please.”

And when he looked past Ratchet to the door, guilty Autobots scattered like leaves in autumn while ‘Bee stood standing in the doorframe, optics worried yet curious. And Blaster was staring, and that damn recorder was still playing, and _he didn’t really have a choice at this point_ , _did he?_

“Fine.” He said, and practically stared as the tens to twenties of scattered Autobots mutually regrouped at the doorframe, optics glistening in curiousity. “If it is beneficial to the team.”

“Oh, it’s beneficial all right.” Ratchet snorted.

 _‘Mmm, comfy,’_ said recording Optimus.

 

The two groups met without their Leaders far from base in the bright moon overhead, mere shadows amongst the canyons in fear of discovery. Of course, even a human could’ve seen them, with the forceful whispers of the Autobots as they perched daintily amongst the overheads of rocks and grass, or how the thrumming of Seeker jets roared as the Decepticons landed with a rather graceful thump in the rocks. It was a miracle that the nearby campsite wasn’t alerted to their presence, or that a lovesick couple ready for an enchanted night didn’t accidentally stumble upon their gathering in search of an abandoned spot. However, that luckiness was overshadowed by other miracles; like how Ironhide kept his guns by his side, and that the tag-along Whirl didn’t immediately strike out for Decepticon blood. Perhaps it was the overall surprise of their Leaders’ new affections that held them back. Maybe it was just because they were too _frickkin’_ shocked to consider doing anything to the other faction. Or maybe it was because of the curiousity, the anticipation of where this clusterfrag of a mess would go that kept servos off the triggers of the guns and arms down by their sides.

Soundwave was the first one to step into the moonlit canyon, arms by his sides, helm held high. He was quickly followed by the Seeker Trine; Skywarp, who held himself nervously as a sparkling would, Thundercracker with the features of a blank slate, and Starscream, whose faceplate screamed a mix of bored and mischievous.  

“Hmm. Quaint place.” Starscream sneered. “Though, _Cybertron will always be our home_.”

That, of course, was the signal, and Ratchet reluctantly let himself be led forward by a concerned Bumblebee to the moonlit meeting place, where Starscream smirked at him and Soundwave’s emotionless visor stared down at him.

“Alright. We’re here.” He said. “We have news. You first.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” Starscream noted, but Thundercracker changed his trine-mates’ mind with a wave of his servo. “Alright, alright. Us first. Soundwave, you’re up.”

Soundwave stiffened. His visor flashed in the dim light, and to the trained optic, the subtle shift in the mech’s pedes gave away how _uncomfortable_ he was just blurting out the info. Through that Ratchet already knew the answer before it was spoken, but his processor could not believe it. No way. No way did the High Mighty leader of the Decepti-creeps fall for Autobot leader Prime. No way did Megatron fall for Optimus.

“Lord Megatron is heavily attracted to Autobot Leader Optimus Prime.” Soundwave said quietly.

**Frag _._**

 “High emphasis on _heavily._ ” Starscream added, because the Seeker couldn’t shut up.

“Well that’s just _frikkin’_ fantastic now, isn’t it?” He snorted, and watched Soundwave stiffen more than medically healthy for a ‘bot. “Well, guess what? You can tell your Lord Megatron that Optimus has admitted to having,” and here came the hard part, spitting the word out without upchucking, “ _feelings_ for His Highness, whatever that might have affect on his _fraggin’ spike_.”

The Decepticons practically froze. There were some whoops, and some cries of outrage, but Soundwave stayed where he was locked in place, as if cosmic rust had taken him over and rendered him inert. Skywarp looked gleeful and disgusted at the same time, a rather impressive feat, and Thundercracker stayed stoic even as his optics flickered a variety of emotions.

Starscream, on the other hand, was beaming like one of those little fleshsticks humans did before that holiday, Krist-Mas, or whatever the _scrap_ it was, a grin wide across his faceplates. His optics had a far off look to them, and he bet his doctoring career that Screamer was already conceiving wild plans from the new information.

“By Primus,” Soundwave vocalized for the second time of the week, not that anyone knew.

“By Primus that’s right,” Ratchet agreed, torn by how he was agreeing with Soundwave of all mechs, but the month had been long and even more wild, and he was tired from lack of recharge.

“Hooray. Our Leaders are lovesick,” scoffed one of the Autobots, an apparently suicidal one because he was instantly pushed aggressively by an opposing Decepticon and all around, fingers closed to triggers almost comfortingly. Squinting, Ratchet could only see Crosshairs with a snarl on his face and servos rigid with double assault rifles shoved up another mech’s throat. Nobody moved. “Oy, _piss off_ , I’m trying to _speak ‘ere_. The frag we gonna do?”

“Let them pierce each other eventually.” Knockout drawled from a rocky ledge, perched on Breakdown’s shoulders with a lazy smirk on his face. Crosshairs reluctantly retracted the assault rifles until the Decepticon could vent again. “I concur with Starscream. Lock them up, and throw away the key until they either kill each other or frag.”

“To be fair, that was Cliffjumper’s idea,” Starscream said. “But it would work.”

“Absolutely not.” Hound sniffed, servo over the twitchy Whirl’s shoulder in case of a worst-case scenario. He looked upset at the whole affair, or it could be just because his smoke was running low. “There are so many _what-ifs_ in that plan. This is not some sappy-afted Chromedome and lovey-dovey Rewind scenario, this is _Optimus_.”

“I’m not saying that it would be a horrible idea, but I agree with the fat one.” Blitzwing deadpanned. “Megatron would be most displeased at us for locking him up, and I like living currently.”

Hound said something, most likely a curse towards Blitzwing for calling him fat. Blitzwing snorted in return. Tensions rose. Bumblebee got quickly between them before anything went sour.

“In all honesty, this is Megatron we’re talking about,” Swindle piped up from the corner. “There are only two things that appeal to Megatron: _glory_ , and _surrenders_.” Half the Decepticons bristled at Swindle’s words, Lugnut’s chassis the most noticeable of them all. A whisper about ‘ _Lies and slander’_ roamed through the ranks of the Decepticons. Unsurprisingly, none of the higher ranking ‘bots made any remarks about Swindle’s words. “Just like me and money. Now, if there was somehow some accidental mishap with the comms, and Optimus accidentally sent a ‘ _surrendering’_ message to Megatron, that could work for them to meet up. Alone.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Prowl snarled, arms crossed bitterly. He was wedged in the corner held back only by Perceptor’s and Brainstorm’s chassis’, scowl smacked on his faceplates.

“Jazz could do it,” offered Swerve helpingly, and he wondered what idiot was stupid enough to bring the chatterbox along. “He’s plenty good with the comms and messages – hey, did I ever tell you about that time Jazz offered to help me set up the speaker system in the bar –”

“Shut up,” hissed Whirl, claws twitching a bit more. A few disgruntled Wreckers shifted forward just to cover Whirl in case the tag-along decided to make a break for it. “Before my normally good-natured spirit decides to go dark.”

“And yeah. End of story.” Swerve hastily finished.

“Fascinating.” Starscream said. “And how should we lure Optimus out?”

“Same way.” Swindle said matter-of-factly. He had a datapad out, clicking on it bored. “Send out something about peace treaties or scrap like that, you know the sap loves that stuff.” Now half the Autobots bristled, him included. He supposed the words were true. That didn’t stop his plating from rattling and a disgusted twitch of his nose to voice his disagreement. “Wave can do it, can’t-cha, Sounds?”

“Soundwave: thinks he’s done enough.” Soundwave said, still frozen with his servos halfway towards his helm. He seemed to be fighting the urge to sigh and die, which Ratchet respected him for at least trying at this point. “Soundwave: would rather not be part of elaborate scheme to get Lord Megatron to – seduce – seduce Prime.” The word _seduce_ came out wheezy and choked, and needed to be repeated. “Soundwave: is out.”

“Aww, comeon Wavey, for the cause?” Blackarachnia taunted. “We’ve all noticed Megatron has been having so many _distractions_ due to the glorious _Optimus Prime_ – can’t we just stop this lapse in judgement before it leads to obsession?”

“I’d already say he’s obsessed with him enough,” Knockout commented, and a few chuckles trickled through the Decepticon ranks. Blackarachnia sent him a putrid glare as Soundwave gave up and let his helm hit his servos with a loud clang. “But still! Soundy, won’t you please give us a _hand?_ ”

“Fine.” Soundwave said muffled, and that got a cheer.

“So that’s the plan?” He asked Starscream. “Forged messages?”

“Hmm. Seems like it. Get Optimus to send Megatron a forged surrender message, get Megatron to send Optimus a forged peace treaty, go watch them fight and then ditch so they can frag each other senseless.” Starscream summed up. “Hopefully.”

“Honestly, this is probably the _stupidest_ idea someone has come up with.” He said.

“Don’t worry. If you believe in that multi-universe theory Shockwave has been spouting about, at least in one of those universes someone has had a worst idea,” Starscream said. “What could possibly go wrong?”

 _A lot_ , Ratchet thought, but he followed the Autobots out anyway.

 

“For Primus sake,” he said for the six hundred and ninety-ninth time, “will you _mcfriggin’_ relax?”

He was lounged on the berth over Jazz’s shoulder, staring at the message being typed out on the screen. Jazz himself was a painting of peace; calm and optics scanning the screen. The mech beside him on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Tense, the mech was crouched over a datapad, servos shot from anxiety as he kept looking behind him as if the hidden Decepticon in the corner was going to spring and attack. Couldn’t blame him, if he was honest; he had his guns laying by his sides safety off, but how the mech craned his neck in paranoia was driving him nuts.

“Crosshairs, I can’t believe you let him in,” hissed Red Alert for the seven hundredth time, nose crinkled up as the mech pointed towards the Decepticon. Cyclonus merely blinked when Crosshairs looked up from the screen to the Decepticon, unconcerned about the near-hysterical whispering. Red Alert was practically slobbering at the glossa. “What’s a Decepticon doing here when we’re just _forging a message_?”

“Mmm. Dunno. Got a message from Ratchet sayin’ to bring ‘em in, so I did what the doc wanted. He’s apparently good at writing.” He said, taking another long sip of Energon from the curly straw drink. The slurping apparently drove Red Alert more up the wall, because the mech’s optics flashed between considering to murder him, or alerting the base that there was a loose Decepticon with no visible interest in destroying anything behind them. “Swerve just released this drink. It’s not too bad. Could use more Engex.”

“This is a class-1 violation of the Autobot Code,” Red Alert theatrically whispered. “We are all in danger of being _arrested_ , and you’re concerned about there not being enough _Engex_ in your _drink_?!”

“Eh, yup.”

“You’re mad.” Red Alert babbled, and practically threw himself to the door. “All of you are mad. I’m going to tell Optimus –”

 _Clang_ , went the gun, and Red Alert went down on his knees from the thump, optics dizzy. He frowned at the gun in his hand. A shame. He was hoping for it to go off and accidentally kill the paranoid nerd. “Ay, will you silence this moron?” He asked the Decepticon nicely. “He’s drivin’ me nuts.”

 _Clang_ , went the hilt of the sword, and Red Alert would be offline for a good cycle until his processor gathered itself again.

“Thanks,” he said. Jazz hadn’t even looked up from the monitor once.

A few more kliks passed. Jazz made no sign of stopping his typing, nor seemed to need assistance on the poem itself. _Slick fragger probably had Rung on the other end of his comm. assisting;_ he thought, and shifted uncomfortably on the berth. _Maybe Rewind too, the damn recorder seemed to know much about this whole **romance** thing. _

A prickling feeling weighed at the back on his helm; shifting a bit more, he saw Cyclonus staring at him intently, optics not wavering from his chassis _. Great_ , now the Decepticon probably wanted something. Did he want to help? Crosshairs glanced back to Jazz’s hunched figure. No, the Decepticreep was staring at him. Why was he staring at him? He took another sip of the Engex, then paused. Maybe he wanted a drink? No, he looked too stiff a mech to want a drink. But he was going back to Swerve’s anyways, and it might offend the mech if he just passed without a word. _Frag_. He might as well ask.

“So, uh...want a drink?” Slick as ever, Crosshairs. Slick as ever. “I’m headin’ down, and Jazz pretty much has this whole revolting _romance_ thing done, so there’s nothing we can do. We’re gonna be here a while.” He coughed. “Unless you wanna keep standing there starin’ at me without sayin’ anything. We can do that too.”

Cyclonus stared him down without twitching a ‘plate. It was harsh and biting, and yet he didn’t feel threatened at all. If he was a much younger mech, and still lived amongst the glowing city of Iacon, he might’ve described it as a surveying glance of a stranger passing another in the street, a brief exchange between two very different mechs in one glance that could determine nothing and everything at all. Something told him he recognized those crimson optics. Something also told all the damn high-grade went to his fraggin’ processor, and now he was hallucinating grand ol’ dreams of Iacon’s great streets.

 “If you want, ‘course.” He broke the optic-contact with a wave of his servo, feeling odd and too much like Cyclonus had just stared into his Spark and didn’t mind what he found. _Great_ , now he was being as paranoid as Red Alert. He was too wasted for this train of thought.

“A drink would be nice.” Cyclonus said softly, and so he got them both a drink.

 

He got the encrypted message from Swindle right before he finished the draft of the forged peace treaty; _‘Come to the medbay. We have drinks. Bring the draft.’_

“That’s not gay enough,” Knockout said when he read the draft, faceplates scrunched up disgusted as he shifted in Breakdown’s lap. Swindle watched from the corner, absentmindedly counting Shanix on the palm of his servo. “It sounds like you’re announcing a funeral, not some sort of romantic letter in attempt to seduce Prime.”

“Peace treaty.” He corrected, taking the datapad back. “No romance.”

“No, no, this won’t work if it doesn’t hold some sort of _romantic_ touch,” Starscream practically sung the words from on top of the medical berth, holding one of the Engex’s Swindle had so graciously ‘donated’ to the meeting. He wore a loose grin on his lips, field tipsy as the rest of them. Strika towered behind him, and behind her sat Lugnut with a squinting scowl. “We want Optimus to go in with a _mood_. We want him expecting a berth and two cups of high-grade for Pits’ sake.”

“Poetry, Soundwave. Think poetry.” Swindle taunted, and Breakdown’s trembling chassis broke into giggles.

“Soundwave is not writing poetry.” He snapped to the chuckles of the Eradicons in the room. “Not to Optimus Prime.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! _Dear beloved Optimus,_ ” and even Strika had cracked a grin as Starscream gestured dramatically with the Engex, “ _Your plating is like precious Energon reserves, your thighs could  –”_ and Starscream froze on the table, “Uh, back me up here, I’m running out of material.”

“ _Kill me with a single flex_ ,” Swindle joked, and he could just feel his plating rattle in embarrassment.

Knockout snorted, and leaned a little more into Breakdown’s chassis. “ _Your optics could rival the glow of Iacon –_ ”

“ _And your aft could too,_ ” Breakdown added with a coy smile, and Knockout smacked him upside the helm. “Ow.”

Thundercracker rolled his optics at the bickering couple, but the usually uptight Seeker must’ve had enough high-grade that even his field was flickering loose amongst the rest of them, emotions bright. “That’s not subtle enough, idiots,” the Seeker said, and a few groans of protest flickered through the medbay. “You can’t just write a poem revolving around just Optimus’ lower half – you think he’s stupid enough to not consider that it had been written by someone else as a practical joke?”

“In all honesty, Megatron would definitely write a poem revolving around Optimus’ aft,” Strika pointed out.

Thundercracker ignored her. “Besides, you think Optimus would be seduced by excessive descriptions of his rear?” There were some shrugs. ‘Cracker set his high-grade down, and Skywarp leaned forward with an anticipating smirk.

“The high-grade is down, everyone. I repeat, the high-grade is down.” Starscream muttered. “Brace, brace, brace. Heh.”

Thundercracker leaned forward, intent on ripping everyone a new aft about literature. “Shhh. Listen. This is _Megatron_ : he’d write it formally, with touches of romantic tinges around certain paragraphs. One paragraph dedicated to Optimus. Or,” and the Seeker paused for dramatic effect. Starscream rolled his optics and sipped at his Engex. “He’d write a romantic free-verse poem, and then add the coordinates of the meeting right below. Like,” and the Seeker cleared his vocalizer.

 “ _six million years long past,_

_And yet you stay the same,_

_the icy stare of a leader’s last,_

_prime of galaxies’ – my grip of shame,_

_a lonely road i travel, just in search of you,_

_to test you, just to best you, in order to build anew_

_but that road’s too lonely now, and we’ve been here far too long_

_i suppose those battle cries, have simply lost their song_

_and it’s only now i remember how a sparks’ true purpose lies,_

_a hammering beat of clashing steel, a pulsing beat of fire,_

_a hearty skip between words of lips, a chassis to hypnotize_

_and it’s only fair, you share my desire.”_

The room crashed into silence. Around seventeen optics blinked a few times just as Thundercracker’s letter set in.

“Holy scrap.” Starscream looked over to his Trinemate. “That was fraggin’ _beautiful_. Soundwave, did you get that?”

He nodded.

Thundercracker’s field suddenly grew very bashful and quiet. “That’s just an example.” He said. “I’m not that good.”

“To the Pits you aren’t, that was _outstanding_ ,” Blitzwing snarled, still rubbing at his optics at Energon that had began to pool there. “I think I heard bits of Vos in there – and a tad of Kaon’s influence too. It was _magnificent._ ”

“I had a friend who was from Kaon who taught me a bit.” Thundercracker admitted. “That was, you know, before the...” He trailed off. “I always wondered if she ever made it through.”

“For a moment, I remembered –” Blitzwing stopped, and took a sip of his high-grade with still-watering optics. Soundwave could feel his warbling emotions, and felt thirty-five fields flicker comfort back at the triple-changer. “Kaon –”

“Will be back.” Knockout said softly. “Who knows. Maybe this letter will push to Cybertron’s rebirth.”

“...You have any more poems like that?” Strika asked Thundercracker, and the jet was only too happy to oblige.

In the end, they ended up going with Thundercracker’s poem, and each of them had a mind full of literature to sit on for the next few cycles.

 

Optimus Prime got the message during the main meeting, and if his vents flaring widely wasn’t enough proof that he received it, his pained attempt to retain dignity with a sad, “Excuse me, something has just come up, I need to go,” wheeze was more than enough proof for Ratchet to put two and two together that the message had indeed come through.

“Well, at least we know the Decepticreeps kept their end of the deal.” Wheeljack noted as they sat around the hall table, pointlessly waiting for their Prime to come back even though they all knew he wouldn’t. “Wonder what they put in that message.”

“Probably something really stupid.” Smokescreen said as Jazz did something with the comms receiver in the corner, probably hacking into Prime’s own personal messaging system and getting the letter up. “I mean, they’re Decepticons. They can’t possibly have made something so romantic that Prime was overwhelmed by the passion.”

A click. Jazz brought up the poem.

“I stand corrected,” Smokescreen said.

 

Lord Megatron had went missing two cycles after he received the forged surrender, and whatever the heck the Autobots had stashed into those letters had to have been heavy with how Megatron ran from the command deck mumbling excuses about _‘personal matters cropping up’,_ vents hissing loudly.

Soundwave had gotten a firsthand experience with the warlord’s reaction however, and for the rest of his days he was going to pretend he never heard Megatron’s vents flare, and a heavy curse followed by the warlord rushing to depart from the Decepticon base in front of the entire Decepticon armies’ optics.

“Hey, maybe they’ll frag.” Blackarachnia said from behind the command console, voice mischievous. “Then we can finally move forward with this _‘rebuilding-Cybertron’_ ideology we’ve been kicking around for so long.”

No one really could say anything to that. Not even him.


End file.
